The Book of Så'tõn
by Jeffery Swagmaster
Summary: Unique. Complex. Intense. Condescending. Spiritual. Campy. Beauty. Pain. Trauma. Darkness. Gobbledygook. Plz plz plz plz plz plz plz plz plz plz R&R. 1 R&R fro 1 smiley GOING THROUGH SOME CHANGES, AS ANY OTHER ADOLESCENT STORY IS WONT TO DO
1. Prelude

p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;" /p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"span style="text-decoration: underline;"emAuthor's Note/em/span/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"emJust to give you an idea of what you're getting into: this story was meant to serve as a punch line to a religious rape joke. Yep. No need to explain further than that. Uh, have fun, and sorry if I offended you...?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"emAs for this story... I have no idea where I'm going with this. For the few chapters I've already written, I simply slam my head against a keyboard until the white keys get a bit red then spell check whatever nonsense came out of that./em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"emI think it's also important to mention that for the first few chapters were written by a person who has never poked a Bible before. Don't worry, intensive Biblical reading shall commence in order to offend you people more accurately./em/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: left;"Edited 12.12.15: Reduced the amount of potential groans to be induced from the reader, gave Prelude narrator a personality, Gangly Prophets merged into one supreme being, schizophrenia now mentioned no less than four separate times, Jeff quietly removed/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"strongPrelude/strong/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"When you develop a spontaneous case of schizophrenia, your first instinct is to assume that your mental stability isn't in peak form. Because, duh, you're hearing voices. Come on, that's a crazy person thing. /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"But, after a brief round of intensive googling, there appears to be a few inconsistencies with my self-diagnosis. Schizophrenia is a long term disease, usually lasting from several years to an entire lifetime. Let's just say that it's pretty unlikely to have a one-week stint with it. Most of the afflicted also tend to not have the equivalent of a full-length audiobook broadcasted into their head. So I either have an extremely rare case of the disorder or a magic, telepathic angel was narrating his autobiography to me. /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"Then again, isn't schizophrenia all about having difficulties discerning reality from personal delusions? Who knows? It doesn't even have to be schizophrenia. There could hundreds of other disorders that might be more fitting. /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"I started hearing the voice right in the middle of finals week. I'm sure you could understand that I was a bit too busy to seek immediate medical attention. I did transcribe most of what the voice said so I would have something more concrete to show to a professional. By the time I was all finished up with finals, the voice stopped speaking. At that point, I felt that if all my problems have already gone away, then what was the point in seeking help? Against all of my better judgements, I still haven't gone to a psychologist. /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"I did show the transcripts to a few friends. By few, I mean two. Friend #1 said something along the lines of, "Neat bible fanfic. Maybe I might be able to turn it into a mediocre webcomic." Friend #2 started babbling about something about reincarnations and prophets. To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention. /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /p  
p style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"So, if you're the least bit interested in reading the ravings of a temporary lunatic, then continue on. Nobody's stopping you. Or you could leave. I won't judge you for it. /p 


	2. A Decent Origin Story

Edited 12.12.15: added a plot, fixed issue in which readers would inexplicably be afflicted with whiplash, Gangly Prophets disbanded, added two additional dimensions to characters, made narrator less annoying, narration makes more sense contextually

* * *

**ª Decent Origin Story**

* * *

Wow. Just… wowie. I'm saying these words, and they're just bouncing around in your head, assaulting the privacy of your… uh, head. I'm impressed with myself. I didn't think it was possible. And only at the cost of the mental-wellbeing of a random, unassuming human too! Sorry about that, but that's life for 'ya. You gotta make sacrifices to, uh… I forgot how the last bit goes. Is there even a last bit? Eh, it's not that important. You get my point.

You I know, I should probably introduce myself before… uh, anything _terrible_ happens. Heh, heh… don't worry. That "terrible" applies to me, not you. You see, you're not the only one getting the short end of the stick here! Heh, equality… _yay_…

Okay, introductions! Where do I start? I guess a name would be a start. My name's Så'tõn. I would ask you for your's, but… my setup only allows for one-way communication. I guess we'll just have to skip over that part.

So, uh… are you writing this down? I feel like you should probably be writing this down. You know, as a courtesy. Some, uh, _tactile_ evidence of my existence. Who knows when that "terrible" thing will happen? It will bring me a little bit of peace of mind if at least _one_ person knew I existed.

So… Så'tõn. You might have a bit of trouble with the spelling… it's spelt: S A-_with-a-little-circle-on-top_ apostrophe T O-_with-a-squiggly-on-top_ N. Så'tõn. Trust me, if I had any choice in the matter, I would've chosen something a bit more pleasing to the eye. Maybe something like Stanley. Or maybe a more woody-sounding name like… I'm getting the feeling that you are rapidly depleting of fucks to give. Okay, okay… moving on…

Now at this point, I bet you're probably wondering what sort of telepathic configuration of being am I. How do I word this without sounding too… fuck it. I am a fallen angel. A fallen angel who has made a large swath of unfathomably bad decisions, to be exact. I've hung out with the wrong crowd, and I've pissed off the wrong supreme beings. I always seem to have a knack for vaguely stumbling into the worst direction possible. All of this has netted me with the looming threat of non-existence.

But enough about me. I think you're probably more interested in the whole "fallen angel" part. So, yes, there is a god. There is also a Satan. Their entire existence is devoted to hating the shit out of the other. I mean, they do do other stuff too, but most of their energy goes into one-upping the other. It's like they can't find a better hobby to occupy their time with. The world would be a much better place if God and Satan took up… I don't know, knitting? Baking?

Sorry, I got a bit off-track back there. It happens when I'm nervous. So, as I was saying…

Hopefully, I've invaded the headspace of someone who does not hold a very high opinion of the Big Man Upstairs because, seriously, fuck that guy. We'll show him that he can't simply delete his problems out of existence!

…I mean, he _can_ do that and does it with an alarming frequency, but… I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish here. It was a stupid idea. At least I did _something _instead of passively awaiting for that non-existence to happen, and the illusion of accomplishing something is enough to satisfy me. Heh…

Huh, still not dead yet. I'm not sure if I should be relived or concerned about this. Might as well make good use of whatever time I have left. You know what's fun? Debunking common misconceptions. Nothing better than the look on someone's face the moment they realized their entire life has been a lie.

Let's start at the very beginning: the _creation of the universe_. I gotta give it to you humans; you guys are really creative with your theories. We got explosions and the, uh, ones with all of those deities painting the world into existence with their artful metaphors and symbolism… I'm sure there's more, but I'm having a bit of trouble remembering all of them at the moment.

Wait, I remember now. The, uh, seven-day one. And by seven-day, I mean "seven-day" …with, uh, you know, sarcastic quotes around it. "Seven-days" is what God wants you to believe. He wants you to see him as this super cool guy who can will a world into existence within the span of a week. I think it's because of some closeted self-esteem issues. I mean, he's gotta be overcompensating for _something_.

Anyways, I'm not exactly sure how long it took him to finish it all since he hadn't created the concept of time until a long while after the universe's conception. I'm sure the number's somewhere in the billions if you're counting by years. The world he created was too fucking big for one guy to consistently maintain, so he created a entire species of glorified moderators in the form of us angels. Our entire purpose in life is to ensure that all the other things are upholding the laws of nature and physics while God got over another one of his creative blocks.

Back then, God went by a much different and much less self-indulgent name. He really kept doing everything he could to be seen as relatable and approachable. So, he went by the name Keith: the most average and unassuming name he could think of at the time.

Nobody had much of an opinion of him due to the fact that nobody saw him that often. Every time when he added something new to his massively expanding world, it would be like: _Oh, would you look at that? There's water now. Neat. Keith really thinks of everything, doesn't he?_

Humans were the last addition to this world. Sort of an afterthought, really.

The very moment he had completed his first draft (commonly referred to as 'man' today), Keith excitedly called over every single angel for a quick meeting. All he told us was that he planned to unveil what would be his last addition to this world. Keith's voice held the giddiness of a child that has been given one to many… uh… things… Okay, I'm not the best with metaphors… or, uh, figurative speech in general. It's hard.

So, uh, the meeting. Keith doesn't usually hold meetings for these types of things, so we all came in with heightened expectations. Keith was standing next to his latest work, covered in a tarp. The… not Keith. The mystery object was under the tarp… to preserve the mystery. Keith looked decently proud with himself. As soon as it appeared that everyone was present, he began introducing the mystery object. I believe he said something along the lines of:

"Hi. Hello. I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you all here today. Or perhaps what _mysterious __**mystery**_ is hiding under this tarp. I assure you, it's pretty amazing. Super cool, _game-changing _stuff under here. You know, so mind-bogglingly cool that it'll, uh, knock your feathers off! Heh, heh… without further delay… behold!"

With a swift tug of the tarp, the mysterious mystery was finally revealed to… lukewarm reception. You humans may feel really special for being _made in god's image,_ but, from our perspective, it just seemed like lazy copout on Keith's part. A mini-Keith? After countless millennia of creative ingenuity, his swan song is a shitty self-portrait?

What were we supposed to tell him? The guy's never experienced outright rejection before. Would he curl up into a ball and cry his sorrows away, or would he respond with blind rage? It was safe to assume that godly anger tantrums are most likely lethal. I mean, I've seen Keith in his moments of brief frustration and annoyance before. It wasn't pretty. It's always the nicest and most unassuming people who are the most dangerous when provoked. So, any angel with with a sense of self-preservation decided it would be best to keep their opinions to themselves.

Of course, there's always that one dickhole who has that _Fuck you! I got an opinion that needs expressing_ mentality. I think you might of heard of this guy. Satan has made quite the name for himself.

A few people here and there unenthusiastically attempted to cheer Keith on, but they were quickly silenced as soon as they heard a single voice yell out to the Great Creator, "It fucking sucks, Keith! Amirite, guys? …guys?"

_Good going, Satan. Always can count on you for your insightful criticism._

For the longest time, a stifling silence choked the atmosphere. Anybody who had been in the near vicinity of Satan had took great care to distance themselves with him, not wanting to be associated with the intolerable amounts of douche Satan was emitting. Keith had his eyes locked on Satan, as if slowly trying to think up a witty comeback, or at least _something_ to put this deviant angel in his place. At this point, I think Satan realized just how badly he fucked up.

"Satan," Keith finally said in a dangerously low voice, "I didn't catch that. What was it that you were saying…?"

"I, uh, said… that your, uh… thing that you made—"

"Human." Keith corrected.

"Yes… human. I was saying that—"

"Actually, this specific one is called man. Human is just a general name for the species." His tone was quite monotonic and impassive, but you could see the suppressed anger flaring up in his eyes.

"Oh, yes, _of course_. The 'man' that you made… it could use a little work. That's… that's all I'm saying."

"That's all you're saying? Ha ha, for a second I thought…" He paused for a moment, his eyes closed in contemplation.

And then he blinked out of existence. Suddenly, there was quite a bit of commotion occurring from the center of the crowd, where Satan was standing.

"YOU FUCKING ARROGANT PRICK! YOU WILL FUCKING **KISS** THE GROUND MAN WALKS ON, YOU _LITTLE SHIT_!"

Keith had one of his meaty-manhands wrapped tightly around Satan's neck in a vice-like grip. Fortunately, angels don't require air to live, so suffocation wasn't really an issue here. Satan only had to worry about persuading Keith to not rip his head off.

Unfortunately, it is very difficult to persuade a rampaging deity who is not really in the mood for idle conversation. Also, it didn't help that Satan was really bad at apologies.

Satan, in the calmest and steadiest voice he could muster, said, "H-hey, listen. Constructive criticism… it's all part of the creative process, you know? It's jus—"

_Beg for forgiveness… that's all you have to do._

"NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME, SHIT-SNAKE. WHAT THE FUCK WOULD **_YOU_** KNOW ABOUT THE '_CREATIVE PROCESS_'?! I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU SCULPTING LIFE FROM _FUCKING __**DUST**_!"

_Just goddamn apologize already!_

"Hey, you don't need to be a creator to be a critic. You just need to, uh, know your stuff. And sometimes you need a good critic to… improve your work. That's why it's called constructive—"

"DO YOU EVEN FUCKING KNOW THE DEFINITION OF CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM?! ALL YOU'VE DONE—"

"Look at you, screaming and shouting like some grumpy toddler who's just learned how to use profanity. Don't you think it's kinda petty of you to… to, uh…" Satan trailed off as soon as he realized that it was the second time today that he fucked up pretty badly. Keith doesn't take too kindly to those who dare to interrupt him while he's speaking.

A brief silence wafted over the area, choking everyone with suspense.

And then Keith decided to punctuate his anger with a goddamned body-slamming. It was actually not as chaotic as you'd think it would be. The body-slamming itself was very calculated and… uh, precise… if that makes any sense. Almost… staged…? I'm not really trying to suggest anything here… just fishing for some more adjectives.

There was a loud crash and crack of ceramic tile (much of heaven is actually tiled with ceramic), and then there appeared to be no sight of either Satan or Keith. Just a jagged hole where they once stood. A good majority of the angels present crowded around the hole, trying to get a good look at whatever carnage laid within.

I never got close enough to get a peek, but I wouldn't've been missing out on a lot of action anyways. Based off of what second-hand information I've heard, a lot of the action was obscured by a pesky, thick cloud. The few angels who wouldn't let a measly cloud get in between their daily dosage of violence figured that they could just use their power of flight to bypass all obstructions. Unfortunately, these also were the type of people who are just terrible at describing events retrospectively. Most of their descriptions boiled down to something along the lines of: "Man, you shoulda' been there! There was the Satan… and then Keith…! And then it was all P_SHWEW_ CAK SHWOMP KR_SSSHHHHHK_!" Fun fact: onomatopoeia, while a great tool for immersion, is not an effective medium to relay crucial information.

A few moments later, a disembodied voice (Keith's) boomed loudly throughout the area. It was oddly shaky and unstable, "**YOU… YOU ALL. I ONCE THOUGHT OF YOU AS FRIENDS… family. BUT I HAVE SEEN THE TRUTH. YOUR LOYALTY IS WAVERING. YOU MAY HAVE HAD THE RESTRICTION TO HOLD BACK YOUR SINS, BUT I STILL SAW THE DOUBT SEEDED IN YOUR EYES. I don't know if I can trust you again…** you who have struck me down at my most vulnerable. **I MAY SOUND IRRATIONAL TO YOU, BUT I AM STILL A MERCIFUL FATHER. YOU WILL ALL HAVE TO EARN BACK MY TRUST AND FAVOR… slowly, tediously. I AM NO LONGER KEITH, YOUR BEST FRIEND. I AM GOD. YOU HAVE SLAIN KEITH WITH YOUR DOUBT… SKINNED AWAY THAT SOFT EXTERIOR, REVEALING THE JAGGED, SCABBY CORE. YOU HAVE BROUGHT THIS UPON YOURSELVES. That is all.**"

I guess Keith was looking for a sycophant as a friend. Too bad he decided to give his "friends" free will as well. I'm not sure if he ever found out that free will was the root of the problem. I mean, didn't he give humans free will too?

Sorry, getting off topic again.

After that quick PA, most angels just shrugged it off and went back to doing whatever it was they were doing before the meeting. There were a few hushed murmurs here and there, some questioning Keith's waning sanity, and others brewing up conspiracy theories over the possibility of the entire event being staged.

I stayed behind. Curiosity overcame me and I wanted to see the full extent of the hole for myself. When I approached it, I was able to ascertain that the hole was, in fact, a hole. It looked just as hole-y (pun unintended) up close as it did from a distance. Unfortunately, a cloud blocked me from viewing the hole-y hole's contents. So, yeah, that was a waste of time.

Just as I was about to go off and return to my post, a familiar voice from behind me suddenly spoke up, "So, uh… _you_… what'cha looking at there?" The speaker was a bit too close, so I instinctively took a few steps away from him.

Of course, I forgot that there was a gaping hole right behind me, causing me to step back onto air. I didn't even realize what had happened until it was too late, and I was staring at a rapidly shrinking hole. Keith's head hung over the hole, his face alarmingly impassive and nonchalant.

Keith knows I'm falling to my death (kinda). He doesn't care. To him, I'm not a—

_Oh, wait a minute. I can fly. _

I gave a strong flap of my wings, and, almost simultaneously, every single one of my feathers fell off, like the decayed leaves of a shaken tree. Actually, it felt more like they were all plucked off of me, like petals plucked by—I just gotta stop with these similes. It was Keith. I just knew it. Who else could it be? It was too perfectly timed to be an accident.

As I silently plummeted towards the rocky earth, the only thought that raced through my mind was: _ohshitohshitshitshitshitshitshitshitfuckfucKFUCKFUCK—_

And then my internal organs and entrails splattered across the terrain, turning the ground into a large-scale abstract piece of artwork.

Needless to say, it took a while for me to get back on my feet again.

Jeez, my… uh, throat is all sore from all that talking I did. Sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger, but I gotta take a little break. If I don't cease to exist by tomorrow, then I guess I'll be seeing you… or, uh, talking to you then.

…See 'ya.


	3. Trials of Fluff and Faff

p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: left;"span style="text-decoration: underline;"strongWARNING: THE FOLLOWING ENTRY HAS NOT BEEN REVISED YET. EXPECT SEVERE DROP IN QUALITY./strong/span/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"em"Uh… hi. I'm the artist, I guess. Yay. Yeah… that's all I got. Why do we even have to do/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"strongTrials of Fluff and Faff/strong/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"em"Uh… hi. I'm the artist, I guess. Yay. Yeah… that's all I got. Why do we even have to do these stupid quote thingys? Like, what can they add that could possible enhance this glorified Bible fanfiction? Then again, it's usually 'PURE WHITE' that comes up with these kinds of ideas… you know, like changing my name to 'Gangly Tainted White Prophet'. Yeah. TAINTED WHITE. Definitely no racial undertones there."/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"—Gangly Tainted White Prophet/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Hello there, and welcome to the second session of emSpooks to Broadcast to Your Vulnerable Youngins in Order to Maximize Emotional Scarring/em. Ha, just kidding. It's still me. Got you there for a second, though. Don't you just love my silly, wait... no... emwacky/em sense of humor? I know, I know... it's the best./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Yeah… that was a bit stupid. I should lay off the improv…/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Okay, now where did I left off? I talked about my fall from heaven already, right? Yeah, I did. Now that we got all of that boring exposition junk, we can finally sink our teeth into the meat of my story. Ha ha, kidding once again. We still have fifty sessions just emfilled to the brim/em with fluff and faff to trudge through first, give or take a few dozen./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Intro over. Story time shall commence!/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Where did I leave off last session? So... let's see... something about falling to my doom, right? Dammit, why was I cursed with such a terrible short-term memory? Anyways, I think we already got past the part where Keith telepathically ripped out all my feathers, so right now you're probably wondering how (or emif/em... for those doubters) I was able to stick such a fabulous landing. Yes, it emwas/em pretty damn fabulous, depending on your definition of the word 'fabulous'./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"After falling for miles upon miles, I managed to land directly on my two feet... causing my legs to instantly snap as well as every other important bone in my body. The shards of shattered bone fragments then stabbed into all my favorite integral organs, thus reducing my current fabulous factor by three. If it weren't for the fact that I was gifted with the supernatural ability to defy the very laws of physics, I would have probably been very dead by that point. Nothing but a splatter of chunky, bloody bits haphazardly sprawled out on the jagged ground. I guess I can thank Keith for that one./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"For some reason, despite blessing us with supposed immortality, Keith still forget to remove the whole pain thing. Completely pointless when combined with the ability to rebound from any wound (even in the case of being transformed into a large-scale impressionist painting). Though, after seeing that whole scene with Satan and the feather thing, I think I now have a better understanding of why he would do such a thing. Sensitive pricks will be sensitive pricks./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Due to the excessive amount of damage that was caused from falling from the heavens, I spent a very long moment enduring terrible quantities of pain as I waited for my body to heal itself. It made sure to take its time in doing so. Definately not the highest point of my day… or several days…? Weeks? I'm not sure exactly how long my body spent healing itself, but by the time it was mostly done, I found that my surroundings had changed quite a bit. No longer was I laying in an empty field among the tall grass, but near a quaint village with a small gang of mini-Keiths mercilessly poking me with a stick./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Do you think it's dead?" emPoke. Poke. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Kinda weird looking, don't ya' think?" emPoke. Po—STAB!/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Hey look, it's bleeding. Do dead things bleed?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Nope. Not in the mood for this. In one swift motion, I grabbed the stick out of the mini...mini-Keith's hand and snapped it in half, "emDo you mind/em?" In response, they ran away shrieking for help. Geez, they were so small that I could probably crush one of them with my elbows. Their stick only made a shallow wound on my arm, which was quick to heal. Still didn't excuse the aggressive poking./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"With that problem 'solved', I was left with nothing to do, except, you know, take in the natural beauties of the countryside. Eh… that village looked pretty interesting. Why not? And with that, I decided to let curiosity take over for a bit and wandered toward the general direction of the village. Coincidentally, this was also the same direction the mini-mini-Keiths... That's just getting really annoying... mini-mini-Keiths. And mini-Keith in general. emFine/em, I'll just call them humans. I guess I'll just stop pouring my creativity and quirky uniqueness into this world if it means I'll be slightly less redundant./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"...The sacrifices I make for you.../p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Where were we? Oh yeah, the village. We can skip over my uneventful stroll over there and jump right into the action. And by action, I mean a couple of mundane conversations I had with the villagers./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"As I approached the edge of the village, I happened to run into that gang of mini... I mean, tiny humans... Okay, fine... emchildren/em again. Upon the sight of me, they all cowered behind what I think might have been their mother, or a mother of sorts... or perhaps a father…? Kinda hard to tell. Anyways, they (the children) spewed all kinds of nonsensical babble like:/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Hey, that's the demon we saw in the field." ...emDemon? Did Keith do something creative while I was gone?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Yeah, it tried to kill us." emI broke their poking stick. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""It's back for revenge!" emRevenge for what? Then again... the stick-poking was pretty unforgivable. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Take Pokey! He has more meat on him!" emEw... I don't eat gelatinous, walking grease-balls. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The mother(?), with all of her sagely knowledge, took one good look at me before turning to the children and saying in her gravelly voice, "Shuddup, will you? That's no demon. It's not nice to accuse random strangers of demontry all willy whack, yeah?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The child I could only assume was Pokey hesitantly spoke up in a voice to match his gelatinous state, "Well, how emdo/em you know it's not a demon?" Geez, thanks Pokey. Guess I'm an emit/em now./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The mother turned back to me and bluntly asked, "Are you a demon?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Uh, no... I don't th—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""See, told you. Not a demon. Now if you'll excuse me..." With that, the lady hobbled off to do something of relative importance. Justice has been served. Can't argue with that logic./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The gang of children gave me a quick, menacing glare, as if to say, 'emyou may have gotten away /emthis emtime, but you won't be so lucky next time…'/em, before scattering off to go do… uh, I don't know… hopscotch…? Not important. Pokey sort of lingered for a bit, probably distracted by how brilliantly his fingers glistened in the sunlight. After realizing his friends had abandoned him, he chugged off to join them in their intensive hopscotch… Is he even physically capable of playing hopscotch? Sorry, that was terrible. Why am I still talking about this? It's doing nothing but adding up to the layers of fluff and faff that's already plaguing this session./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Okay… Moving on…/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"It seemed as if the entire village shared a universal distrust towards exotic-looking strangers. Apparently that mother-lady was merely an anomaly. The villagers all shared this weird habit where they would rudely stare at me and then deliberately walk away whenever I got near. All I wanted was to get a few questions answered. It's like they've never seen an angel before... or I'm just uglier than I thought I was. Ha ha, self-shaming jokes, amirite?/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"In a sudden stroke of brilliance, I came up with a flawless plan. It's pretty complex, so I'll explain it to you in layman's terms. Humans seem to be very advanced and, as advanced beings, should've substituted the primitive system of bartering with some form of monetary unit. Cash. And, with the development of cash, wouldn't one like to set up a place where they can barter off cash for items of equal or (more likely) less value? A shop, store, whatever your terminology is. Such a place would be set up within the confines of an enclosed area... with its employees stuck in a position where they are slave to a customer's demands! I feel so smart. And would you look at that: a general store! Placed conveniently near where I stood. emDon't ask how I knew what a human store would look like. Just go with it. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The door gave a welcoming jingle as I opened it. Immediately I was greeted with a falsely enthusiastic, "Welcome to John's General Goods…!"—after I walked into view—"How may I... what the…?" He took a moment to gather the remnants of his courage, "Uh, sorry, sir. We... we have a no demon policy here as well as a... no shirt, no shoes, no service policy. Would you kindly...?" He didn't have the resolve to finish that sentence, substituting modest hand gestures for words./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Are demons such a common occurrence that it would make sense to have a 'no demon' policy? Would the demons be courteous enough to oblige? "I'm not a demon. Why does everyone keep calling me that? Not sure if this means anything to you, but I happen to be an angel… of emgod himself./em" (Couldn't hurt to clarify) "So—" emLet's hope you're devoted to Keith... or have knowledge of what an angel is. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""If you're an angel, then where's your wings... and your halo and lyre?" emHalo and lyre? Where did that come from?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""The halo and lyre is, in fact, nothing but myth. As for my wings..." I took a moment to steal a glance at the raw, exposed flesh of my wing limbs (or whatever the proper name is), "I was attacked... no, emambushed/em by a pack of these demons. The ruthless monsters easily overpowered me and savagely..." I looked away bashfully, for dramatic effect, "I don't want to talk about it. You… you get the gist."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""So if you're an angel, that means... My God, God has answered our prayers! Praise and glory be to Him!" emThese people don't need much convincing. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""So... I assume that there's some problem here. Let me guess... demons?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""You won't believe how terrible the situation is. The demons strongrape/strong our fields of their luscious grains and our women of their luscious virginity! They raid our village on a monthly basis; its terrible…! These spawn of Satan have no bounds... strongno morals/strong—" Wait, emspawn of Satan/em? How is that even physically possible? He doesn't even have the organs required./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""By 'spawn of Satan', you mean...?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Satan... created... the... demons," Mr. Shop-Guy replied matter-of-factly (and rather patronizingly, may I add), "C'mon, man. You, out of all people, should be on top of this stuff. It's, like, common knowledge." This entire QA session had been nothing but counterproductive: every answer I get seemed to produce even more questions than I started with. At this point, I was figuring out how to cleanly end the conversation./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Hey, I'm just a… scout here. You know, just assessing the situation to see how much resources we need to expend to fix the problem."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""So if you're just an assessor... erm, scout-whatever… I guess the least I can do is take you to the source of the demons. Yup, the very entrance to Hell itself. It's actually pretty close by to the village." Shop-Guy was surprisingly okay with this fact./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Who's bright idea was it to build a village right next to the gates of Hell?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"This sparked something within the man—a flame of self-righteousness. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for his well-rehearsed speech, "This village... this land was given to us by emstrongGod Himself/strong/em. Abandoning this land is to abandon the Lord as well. The demons are only a test of our faith. They may rape our fields and women, and they may slaughter innocents, but nothing can drive us away from our land... our emGod-given/em land! ...but we'd still really appreciate it if you took care of this demon problem for us."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Huh. Never thought of it that way. Well, I guess I'll go see what I can do. Just show me the way to Hell." I just realized that I was accepting this quest from some random shop keeper I ran into. Who knew where emhe /emwas getting his sources from? Then again, I didn't have anything better to do./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Shop-Guy (I emthink/em his name was John, but he never clarified that) made a big deal out of introducing their 'god-sent savior' to every human within earshot. He accomplished this by yelling, "GOD HAS SENT US A SAVIOR!"—I don't actually think I told him I would directly do anything about their demon problem—"WE SHALL SOON BE LIBERATED FROM THE OPPRESSIVE THREAT OF THE DEMONS!" Nobody seemed to pay him any attention, as if this was all routine. 'emIs that Shop-Guy making all that ruckus? Must be a Monday." /emAt this point, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if the 'Gates of Hell' turned out to be a shallow cave inhabited by some outcasted hobbit./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"After making that announcement, he began to lead me back out of the village and to the very field I collided with. We even passed by an indented portion of the field that probably marked the healed-over location of where Keith body-slammed Satan into Hell. Shop-Guy lead me a bit further before abruptly stopping./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Sorry, guy. This is as far as I go. If I go any further, I might get tainted by Satan's overwhelming presence." emYep, sure... whatever you say. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""So, uh, where's this entrance to Hell, then?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Just keep walking towards those mountains over there. There should be this cave at the mountain's base. Got it?" emHuh, cave. Go figure. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Yeah, I think so. But wha—" At that moment, I realized that Shop-Guy had already begun his sprint back to the village. The last thing I heard from him was his distant farewell of, "emGODSPEED/em!"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Let's hope there was some truth behind Shop-Guy's inane ramblings./p 


	4. The Outcasted Hobbit Who Suicides

p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: left;"span style="text-decoration: underline;"strongWARNING: INCOMING DROP IN QUALITY. TO PRESERVE YOUR OWN MENTAL WELL-BEING, IT IS ADVISED YOU DO NOT PROCEED UNTIL THE NEEDED REVISIONS HAVE BEEN ADDED./strong/span/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"strongThe Outcasted Hobbit Who Suicides Upon Request (*spoiler*)/strong/p  
hr style="color: #000000; font-family: -webkit-standard;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"em"I've pondered this question of superiority for countless, sleepless nights: thick or thin pancakes? Thick pancakes have the better ability of absorbing syrup… but the real problem is whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Do I really want a soggy, diabetes-filled pancake? My old geography teacher used to tell me to 'never eat soggy waffles'. Does this proverb also apply to pancakes as well? Are thick pancakes sacrilegious?"/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"—Gangly Pure White Prophet/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Remember that little quip I made last session about the figurative cave-dwelling and outcasted hobbit?/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Yep./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"When we left off, I was approaching what may or may not be the entrance to Hell. It looked like an average cave to me. Nothing out of the ordinary. In front of the cave sat a gnarled human (the outcasted hobbit!) who stared deeply into the dying embers of a makeshift fire pit./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"emIs this the guardian of the Gates?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Then again, why would Satan assign a human to guard his lair? Being a creature of un-rudeness, I greeted the human with an amiable "Hello, there." At first, there was no response, but slowly the human craned his head up to take a look at me./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"…/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Uh, you okay there, buddy?" No response. His glazed eyes kept on staring at me, unblinking. Honestly, very creepy. I don't know why, but emsomething /emcompelled me to continue this one-sided conversation with him. Will I regret this later? Yes./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""I'm here to see Satan. You, uh, have any idea where to find him?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"…/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""No…? I guess I'll—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Suddenly springing to his feet with the energy of an… I don't know, he spoke with a voice I would never associate with his gangling form, "emSatan/em, you say? emstrongSatan/strong/em? Oh, how I've been meaning to meet him! And so emclose/em he is! emJust beyond this cave/em! So close… surely a demon such as yourself—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Is this going to be a running gag? "Not a demon. Don't worry, common mistake. I'm actually an angel, believe it or not."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"I distanced myself from him once I realized how close he'd gotten to me. Sometimes I regret being the social butterfly that I am. The human looked at me with a figurative monocle of skepticism, "An angel, eh?" Don't tell me: emwhere's your halo and lyre?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"He focused his gaze onto my pathetic wing limbs, as if silently asking me what happened to them. This guy seemed to be a Satan fanboy, so I figured that the truth might appeal to him more than to the other Keith diehards, "Oh, these? Funny story. Actually, kinda tragic now that I think about it. I guess you can call me a 'fallen angel'. I had a little… disagreement with Ke—emgod/em and, well, you can guess the rest. Wasn't Satan also a fallen angel?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""I can see it now. You wish to reunite with Satan and combine forces to bring down that ego-centered douche of a deity that the masses revere so much!" Looks like we got another one for Team Satan, "…Oh, did I introduce myself yet? Bit rude of myself. Name's Bob." He extended his hand out in means of a friendly greeting./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"His hand was a twisted mess of calluses and neglected fingernails. Mere words can't do it justice. Let's just say it was a hand that one wouldn't want to touch. I causally avoided making eye contact with it, in hopes that Bob will think I hadn't noticed his offer. "Bob, eh? Weird name. I'm Så'tõn. Now that we're all introduced… I believe I have somewhere to be now." I carefully sidestepped around Bob and proceeded to enter the cave, but then something gangly latched onto my arm and tugged me to a halt. emOh, god. It's touching me… his hand…why!?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"See what you made me do, Bob? You made me take Keith's self-given name in vain./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"I managed to free my arm from Bob's clutches, and before I could make any sarcastic remark, Bob pleaded, "Take me with you! Please, you don't understand; I need to see Satan." Normally, I would've asked why, but I honestly didn't care. It probably would've been too long and tragic for my liking./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Uh, sure, why not?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Bob immediately brightened up like a child… uh, being tickled…? I'm terrible at similes. His face darkened slightly as he said, "Be warned: the cave is a labyrinth of forked and intertwining paths. I've been here for weeks and still haven't figured it out yet." emIsn't that just great?/em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""So… what makes you think having me escorting you will help you in any way?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Surely Satan will untwine the path for a fellow fallen angel such as yourself." emOr maybe you are in need of meat shield for when the going gets tough, or, in this case, when the cave gets too dark. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"I had no desire to continue the conversation, so, without warning, I continued onward into the wide mouth of the cave. Bob quickly caught up, always standing too close to me. The cave itself was suspiciously absent of any forks or twists and instead consisted of a steadily-declining and straight path. Perhaps Bob wasn't as full of it as I thought. Or, going with my previous theory, Bob had a crippling fear of the dark and tried to hide it with all of his Satan nonsense./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The tunnel was long. Eventually, the smothering silence and Bob's uncomfortable closeness got to me and forced me to start up a conversation with him, "So… uh, how do you know that this cave leads to the entrance of Hell?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Oh, well, it's a long story."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Then why don't you give me the abridged—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""It's fine!" He said with a choked chortle. With a brief harrumph he continued, "You've been to that village nearby, right?"—I attempted to answer, but—"Yeah, you have. I saw you walking over here with John… emthat little son of a/em… sorry, off topic. I used to live there. Had a wife, some kids. I was happy. Then…" emThey all tragically died? /emHis voice began to quaver, "Little Timmy… he… with Bob Jr. … It was disgusting… terrible. I don't want to talk about it." Then why even bring it up in the first place? "Shortly afterwards, I walked in on my wife and emJohn/em rubbing their uglies together. I tried to bring them to justice, but… John accused me of Satanism and—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Aren't you already—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Hold on, I'm getting there. I'm… I'm—" It was at that moment that Bob collapsed into a pile of unmanly tears. In case you were wondering, yes, it was very awkward. He placed a hand on the tunnel's emmoist/em (don't you just love that word… emmoist) /emwalls to support himself, but lost his footing and crumbled to the floor. Bob didn't mind this that much, continuing right on with his pathetic sobbing. See: this is why I don't do social… that sentence didn't come out right. Whatever. You get my point./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""It's fine. You don't have to talk about it. You need any help, uh, getting up?" Out of the goodness of my heart, I extended a hand out to him, but Bob weakly slapped it away, managing to get up all by himself. Tears and snot still stained his face, but at least he stopped crying. We continued aimlessly walking down the never-ending tunnel./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Bob said, "I don't know what came over me. As I was saying…" He continued his story only halfheartedly this time around, "John convinced the entire town that I sacrificed lambs on a daily basis for some kind of summoning ritual to call demons over to attack our village. I don't know why everyone believed him! I love lambs; I would never hurt one… emnot for any deity/em. I was driven out of town. Slowly, I became consumed with thoughts for—"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Would you look at that! I think I see the end of this tunnel!" emAbout time it showed up. /em/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Like a child who's been told that there's candy in the back of a suspiciously windowless vehicle, Bob giddily ran into the dimly-lit room ahead of us. I didn't hear any sudden shrieks of pain or alarm from Bob, so I figured that there was nothing of concern in the room ahead (or that the said thing of concern had 'silenced' Bob before he could realized that he was being 'silenced')./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"The room was nothing that I expected it to be./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"It looked to be an elaborate waiting room of sorts. Its high ceilings were supported by several finely carved pillars, and its upper walls had a few 'windows' carved out, letting some kind of light filter through. Stone benches were scattered throughout the cavernous room./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Suddenly, an oh-so familiar voice broke the eerie silence, "Long time no see."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"My heart was savagely thrashing and beating the insides of my chest in anticipation as I turned around to face my dear, old friend, Satan. I was about to retort with something sassy, but I was suddenly assaulted by a visual stab to the eyes (metaphors). His face was mangled with nasty-looking scars, with the rest of his body being very skeletal in appearance. His wing limbs, naked of feathers, were partially covered by a tattered, leather sheet, pinned in place by a pair of spike-things./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Just as I managed to recollect myself enough to spit out some form of response, Bob came rushing over to Satan. He collapsed onto his knees in sickening reverence and began to grovel, "Oh, Sir! You don't know how long I've spent seeking you out! …you emare/em Satan, right?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Upon having his personal space violated, Satan stepped back a tad. He looked down at the groveling Bob. "Yes, I believe I am," he spoke in almost a fatherly tone. "Let me guess… you're here to ask for a favor, aren't you?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""W-well, yes… you could put it that way I guess…" Bob's resolve began to falter. He seemed to be having second thoughts./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Revenge, isn't it?"—Bob opened his mouth to say something but—"It's nothing to be ashamed about. It's a completely natural desire to have. We can work out the specifics later, but now… just to make it all official, you have a contract you need to sign. Come now, get up."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Satan waved his arm around theatricality, and suddenly, a lithe blade (I believe they're called rapiers… great for piercing) appeared in his bony hands. emWhen did…? Is that a thing we could always do? Make weaponry out of thin air? /emSatan offered the rapier to Bob, who shrunk away at the sight of the intimidating blade. Bob hesitatingly asked, "What is this for?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Oh, this? I need your signature, you see, for legal reasons. emThis/em is your pen, and the parchment… emyour heart/em. So, sign away!" Satan unceremoniously dropped the rapier into Bob's hand with an encouraging nudge. Bob looked back at Satan with uncertainty, "Sir, are you asking me to…?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Yes."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"For a second, I thought he wasn't going to do it. I was waiting for the metallic clatter of the sword dropping to the stone floor. But of course that didn't happen. From the way I structured that last sentence, even you know exactly what happened… probably./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Bob crumpled to the floor, shrieking and moaning (in the least sexual way possible), "AURRGGAA! NUUFGGG! emWhy does it hurt so much/em?" Gee, Bob, it couldn't be that sword you self-impaled into your chest. Me and Satan… wait, no… excuse my grammar… emSatan and I /emspent the next several moments quietly watching Bob whimper and make other awkward noises of pain on the floor. Okay, I'll be honest here. I didn't watch. These types of things make me all squeamish./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Satan finally spoke up, "I think you missed."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Between gasps of pain, Bob managed to spit out, "…emW-what/em…?"/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;""Your heart, I mean. Missed it by a few inches."/p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Bob slowly looked down at his chest to judge for himself the extent of his inaccuracy. Then he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the rapier and, with a barely suppressed groan of extreme pain, he pulled it out of his torso… only to plunge it right back in moments later (this time on target). No, I won't go into details about it. It's as terrible as you imagine it to be./p  
p style="font-family: -webkit-standard;"Bob died./p 


	5. Stan's Your Man!

**WARNING: where did all the quality go? it was simply never here in the first place. you can'****t have quality without quality. don't you have something better to do? maybe, i dunno, read a nice, professionally written book or go outside for a bit. it couldn't hurt. **

* * *

**Stan's Your Man!**

* * *

_"I was hesitant to show it to anyone with real credibility. I was afraid of being sent to that… therapist. Her appearance can be compared to that of the Great Fairies from Ocarina of Time. Not even the slightly touched up versions from the remakes and spin-off games. The original, in all of her polygonal glory. So, you can see why the first person I showed it to was [PURE WHITE]. I rationalized my choice by telling myself that I just wanted to get a feel of how people might react to this. Maybe I should've shown it to someone more… stable?"_

—Gangly Yellow Prophet

I've got the best news, right here. Guess what? Actually, nevermind; you're incapable of interacting with me in any way. Don't bother guessing. I'll just tell you.

Anyways, I've been getting a bit tired of having to rely sheerly on memory every time I do one of these things, so I decided to come more _prepared_ this time. I've written everything I want to say for this session on this handy piece of…

Wait, where did it go? I swear… it was just here a second ago.

Of course, I forgot to bring the paper. Good going, me. You know what, I don't need any stupid paper. I can totally wing this.

Okay… Satan. Bob died… and then Satan… Stan he… uh… talked, and, uh… what did we talk about again…?

One second, I'll be right back.

_[EDITOR'S NOTE: at this point, a prolonged silence occurred. A few minutes later, Så'tõn resumed talking]_

Hey, there. I'm back.

The problem with writing down _everything_ you want to say is that you're not as dedicated with committing all of that stuff to memory. Well, I guess that's pretty obvious. This is why you don't go relying on a scrap of paper to hold important chunks of your past. It's just irresponsible.

Anyways, in light of this situation, I've brought along an old friend of mine to narrate this session. His memory is _way_ better than mine. Then again, everybody has an amazing memory when compared to me. He _may_ have the inferior storytelling skills… okay, fine. I'll stop 'stalling'. Satan… Stan… whatever you're calling yourself now… go ahead… say whatever.

* * *

_[EDITOR'S NOTE: after this point, the voice speaking changed slightly. Emphasis on _slightly_. Also, in case it was unclear… SATAN'S POV SATAN'S POV SATAN'S POV SATAN'S POV]_

Uh, hi. Wow. My voice sounds a bit weird. Like, there's this echo… Hey, Så—oh, he's gone. Figures. Så'tön's been all… aloof lately. Wonder what's been bugging him… Actually, now that I think about it, I don't really care. That guy's always weird.

And he keeps on calling me 'Satan' for some reason. I think I made it _pretty clear_ that it's 'Stan' now. It's been _Stan_ for a LONG while. I think he just does it to spite me. He knows how much I hate that name. Satan isn't really much of a friendly name either. It's all harsh on the tongue and is just one syllable too tedious to speak. Stan, on the other hand, produces a much smoother and more well-rounded sound. It's approachable. It's relatable. Stan is just your everyday man… well, in this case, angel who is only looking out for your best interests. Stan _is_ your man, as the saying goes. Very complex psychological constructs at work here. I don't expect you to fully comprehend. It's okay. A lack of understanding is nothing to be ashamed about.

I remember that Så'tõn used to always poke fun at my name change, saying that I was being completely and ironically uncreative by only removing a single letter from my original name. That is just so… _him _to be looking at things merely at a visual level. Yes, _I will admit that he does have a point_, but 'Satan' and 'Stan' are two entirely different words when you stop judging them visually. You see, you have to—

_[*a long sigh of self-disappointment*]_

Look at me. Rambling. Ranting. _Tangenting_. I'm starting to sound like Så'tõn now. Always off on some tangent that seems to consume any valuable content that he may have stealthily sprinkled in between layers of opinions regarding… women's shoes or whatever. Enough faffing about. I think I might as well do what I came here to do. Let's just get this over with.

The truth shall be heard.

Ugh, that sounded really cheesy. I take that back. Let me try again. Uh… let's get this train—okay, I got nothing. Transitions are hard.

I guess I might as well start from the moment after I was violently body-slammed into Hell. That's where most of the more severe deviations seem to originate from.

Keith didn't just body-slam me a couple miles into the surface, for he also had to savagely tear out every single one of my feathers. I mean, who does that?! I think it was meant to be symbolic or something, but who has the time to spare uncovering the hidden meanings behind a madman's violent actions? Have you ever been straddled by a fat guy? We're talking about a guy so dense that he has his own gravitational pull. That fat fuck probably cracked a few bones with his weight alone.

After what seemed to be an eternity of continuous disfigurement and maiming, everything stopped. Who knows? Maybe my heart did for a bit as well (with immortality and all, that would never be a permanent problem). I felt like I died for a brief moment there.

With the lack of a fat fuck obscuring my vision, I had a chance to soak in my new surroundings. Yay, subterranean cave. What an interesting change in surroundings. I longingly stole a glance at the massive hole above, taunting me with the natural light that dripped down from the out-of-reach area above. _If only my wings were still functional…_

No sooner than I decided that I could be doing something more productive and turned away to do said productive activity, the entire thing caved in. If it weren't for my keen instincts and divine dexterity, I would've been buried under several tons of rock and whatever else holes are made of.

Wait… does that qualify as a sexual innuendo? Isn't 'hole' slang for… or was the term 'glory hole'? The human language consists of so many innuendos that I'm starting to lose track of them all. If there's anything impressive about the human mind, it's its ability to look at almost any object and be instantly reminded of boning.

Whoa, I almost started tangenting there. _Okay… focus, Stan. Stay on topic. _

Keith's recently created glory hole collapsed in on itself, probably in fear of what being Keith's glory hole entails (my guess is a nightly ritual of crying oneself to sleep). With my only source of light successfully extinguished, I was left in total darkness to blindly grope at the moist cave walls. If it weren't for my echolocation…

_[*a brief, yet shamefully feminine, giggle fit*]_

Nope. Sorry, I'm a terrible bullshitter. Så'tõn makes it look so easy. _Echolocation?_ I pity the soul that thought I was being serious back there. Your mother is probably _very_ disappointed with you. No, _I can't echolocate_. Sorry for crushing your hopes and dreams (although, now thinking about it, I wish that were a reality). Besides, who needs echolocation when they have night vision?

Eh, night vision is starting to feel like a copout for what could've been _so much more_…

So… uh, cave. Cave exploration. That happened. Lucky for me, there was plenty of cave to keep me occupied for a long while. Some really strange developments occurred during that time span. Even to this day, I still have no better explanations for all of those happenings beside divine punishment courtesy of Keith. So… let's see… what happened…

Adjacent tumors began to sprout from my head (I guess you could equate it to the horns that are often present in many caricatures of myself)

• My body mass decreased dramatically, leaving me practically looking like a shrink-wrapped skeleton… okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but you get my point

• My feathers failed to grow back even in the slightest

• An odd increase in my divine conjuring abilities occurred

Is 'conjuring' too big of a word for you? Sorry, I'm not sure what the target demographic is here. Better be safe than sorry:

• Magic! _WOOOSH! Bibbity-bobbity-boo!_

I think I got my point across.

Looking back on those points… gee, _one of them is not like the others_. Wonder which one that might be…

It's point #4. _Point #4_. For those who can't count, it was the last one. It's not that hard. It was the only option that doesn't fit the description of 'divine punishment'. Even back then I figured that there was no way that Mr. Fat Fuck intentionally caused that. The true explanation is fairly disappointing and still barely makes any damned sense to me.

I believe Så'tõn already introduced the paradox revolving around Keith's creation. If you already forgot, the theory goes that Keith created humans and the human's belief in Keith is what allowed him to exist. From what I eventually learned, the human power of _believing _is the fucking most powerful force in the universe. You see, following my 'exile', Keith really talked shit about me to _everybody_ in an attempt to completely destroy my reputation and respect from fellow peers (as well as complete strangers because Keith is very thorough with these kinds of things). You know, adding insult to injury. Apparently, when talking all smutty with his humans, they somehow misinterpreted Keith. They got the idea that I was this being of _eternal darkness_ and _pure evil_ with the power to rival _god himself_. I believe that in one of their languages, Satan literally means 'adversary'. Anyways, due to the fact that the humans _believed _I was this all-powerful being of darkness, I became an all-powerful being of darkness… more or less.

See that kids? If you _believe_ hard enough, all of your dreams will come true. Even that one about the flesh-devouring monster that mauled your beloved puppy. Only if you _believe_…

It's not like I'm entirely complaining about the extra conjuring skills. They're much appreciated, in fact. They've allowed me to fully hone my superior decoration skills and transform the lava-infested Hell into something much more pleasing to the eye. They've also allowed me to bring life back to the rejected human souls that weren't good enough for Heaven. Hmmm… maybe I should elaborate a bit on that part.

I think sometime in the middle of my subterranean cave exploration, I said to myself, "Fuck it. I'm never finding a way out of here. This is my new home and Imma gonna embrace it." And embrace it I did. I was finally able to express my suppressed interior decorating skills in ways I was never able to before. The cave system was my blank canvas, awaiting an eager brush. And I…

I was happy.

Then the first human soul came. Tossed away like you would toss a banana peel into a waste bin.

To be completely honest here, I kinda ate it. In my defense, it looked like candy and I haven't tasted candy for the longest period of time. And since I downed it rather hastily, my taste buds never had a chance to identify that familiar soul flavor. That familiar flavor that is comparable to rancid ballsack set aside to ferment in swamp water for half a month. Unfortunately, souls leave a terrible aftertaste that haunts your mouth for a dozen hours, leaving you with extended feelings of regret for that time period. But there's also this… addictive quality about souls as well. This quality is strong enough to ignore any other negatives eating souls brings. You know, like bad breath.

Did I just waste half a minute rambling on about eating souls? Sorry.

To recap, I ate a soul and it tasted like ballsack and regret. And that soul wouldn't be the last to be tossed down into Hell. Any human that didn't exactly fit Keith's ideals of perfection would have their soul be condemned to an eternity of suffering and torment in Hell, conducted by yours truly. At least, that's what he told them. I'm not even sure why Keith gave humans free will in the first place. That stuff always seems to backfire.

Hell became the waste bin of the unwanted. I've received every sinner of the rainbow: murderers, rapists, homosexuals, non-believers, pagans, those who liked buttsex, those who can't stay committed in 'super serious' relationships and allow their junk to run astray… and so on. You would think that I would have lapsed into an addictive frenzy with all the influx of souls, but I didn't. I have more self-control than you give me credit for.

I kinda felt bad for the souls, being inanimate objects and all, and thought maybe they would be happier as sentient objects.

Nah, I was just a bit lonely after spending a long-ass time in what can technically be defined as solitary confinement. Who would ever think I'm a selfless person? The truth is much more… _fishy_ than that. Get it? _Fishy _and sel_fish? _

_Stick to your day job, Stan. _

Anyways, I gave life to those decrepit souls, using my newfound magic powers. I _tried _to make them look humanoid, but my skills obviously lie in interior decorating. I got the color all wrong and I sharpened some bits too much… made one arm longer than the other… messed up their feet quite a bit (but who can make good-looking feet anyways?). A physical body is better than no body, I guess.

These gangly creatures I made out of the discarded souls sent my way became known as 'demons'… at least, that's what the humans called them (I believe that it was meant to be some sort of derogatory term, but the 'demons' reclaimed it with pride). _I _called them Nick, Mary, or whatever they wanted to be called… because I'm cool like that. If one particular 'demon' wanted to be referred to as 'Swagmaster', then that's what I'll call him… or her. I'm all about gender equality.

Whoa… I'm getting a bit out of sequence there. Of all things, chronological order is the first thing I screw up with this whole storytelling thing… Okay, maybe not the _first_ thing, but… never mind.

Why don't I talk about the very first demon I made?

_[EDITOR'S NOTE: Something odd, and most likely unintentional occurred at this point. The entire transmission completely cut off here. Perhaps some divine interference? The second half of this transmission continued after a few days of static silence. In the case that this split was intentional, the two parts were split as if they were two separate transmissions. We profusely apologise if this causes you to exert much more energy than you would prefer to in order to read Stan's tale in its entirety.]_


End file.
